Its Muse

Whate'er before my site appears,
One vision in my heart is born,
Two sweet, sad faces, wet with tears,
Seen through the dim, Grey light of morn.

And, half o'er shadowing them, arise
Thoughts, which are never lulled to sleep,
Of one, whose calm, rebuking eyes
are sadder that they do not weep.

O friend, whose time it might not be
To tread, with me, life's path of ills!
O friend, who yet will walk with me
The white path of the eternal hills.

Gone are the moments when we planned
Those sweet, but unsubstantial bowers,
In some unknown and pleasant land,
Where all our future wound through flowers.

Into the past eternity
Have faded all those hopes and schemes;
That summer island in the sea
Slept only in our sea of dreams.

I know not if our hope was sin,
When that fair structure was up-built;
But this I know, that mine has been
The bitterest recompense of guilt.

And the wild tempest of despair
Still sweeps my spirit like a blast;
Tears, amends, agonizing prayer,
Could you not save me from the past.


TDM